All Sorts of Things: A Honeymoon Fic
by miscreant rose
Summary: The honeymoon we never got. Both Mary and Matthew have lived their lives and are now starting out to live a life together. But what ghosts from the past will tag along, and how will their eyes be opened?
1. Chapter 1

_A/N ~ Forgive me as this will be my first time doing a multi-chapter fic that I really have no idea where it will end up. Kinda terrifying to post not having everything else perfectly in place…._

_Despite falling in love with all kinds of stories over the years, it has been rare I've actually turned to fanfiction to supplement my enjoyment of a story. Then I mainlined Downton Abbey and became emotionally involved with characters who have stolen my heart (and broken it into a million pieces, but whatever). I figured after the 2011 Christmas Special, honeymoon fanfic would be all over the place, and I was ready to read through it all. I was surprised to only find a few, and though delightfully smutty, I wanted more — and not just of the smut. So as I started actually writing my first fic for the fandom ("The Size of Things", which is a silly pre-honeymoon one-off that I like to think could have happened), I had bits and pieces of a proper honeymoon fic starting to emerge. I also had calls of a sequel to "The Size of Things," I think because of Matthew's line about "one room being checked off the honeymoon list." _

_But as I was dawdling with the next fic demanding to be written and still mulling over the proper honeymoon fic, and reading all kinds of wonderful meta up on tumblr, I decided maybe I would play with something a bit closer canon. I'm determined not to make this a total smut-fest; more of a revelation of what was meant by "my eyes have been opened." There are some deeper character and motivation issues that bothered me (and a few others) through S3 that I want to explore, since obviously in an 8 episode season with 20+ characters, not everything can be covered to satisfy us all. _

_As always, gratitude to JF and TPTB for these wonderful characters I am only borrowing to become yet more emotionally attached to a fictional show. A huge hat-tip to OrangeShipper the the usual suspects for the cheerleading and butt-kicking as this first chapter simply did not want to be born. RGrace is once again an awesome beta, even for a MIA fic-writer such as myself. And if you all haven't discovered __**agncatz**__ and her graphic talents on tumblr, what are you waiting for? She worked so hard with me to make sure this fic has a gorgeous cover that was just what I was imagining. Please send her some kudos and love since my endless squees in her general direction can't begin to convey my happiness. ;)_

_Oh, boy. Here we go!_

* * *

Matthew studied Mary's slim figure on the platform where she stood talking to Anna, watching the way the steam floated gently around her, almost curling her in an embrace — one he longed to gather her in himself. The rich blue of her suit and hat only emphasized her fair complexion and richness of her hair. He smiled as she glanced over at him, paused to meet his gaze, the faintest hint of a return smile curving her lips. He was married to that incredible creature, that stunning woman, that closest of friends who had been there for him, no matter what. No matter how hard he had stupidly pushed her away in the past, she stood calm and still, unflustered, able to forgive him when he wasn't able to forgive himself.

And now they were married. He had to keep telling it to himself, fueling the stupid, besotted smile he had been wearing all day. But it had all seemed so impossible, even Mary's upset with him yesterday and attempt to call it off last night seemed to be just one more hurdle in what had been a six year battle to get them here. To have it finally be so after so long had him in a state of happiness of which he wasn't quite sure he was worthy.

His breath caught again as Mary walked over to him, a coy look on her face. "Ready, darling?"

He smiled down at her, delighted by the affectionate term she used so easily with him. "Quite ready," he answered, tucking her arm into his.

They headed toward the first class carriages, and Mary continued, "Did you get a chance to talk to Aunt Rosamund at all this afternoon?"

He shook his head. "Only briefly and to thank her for providing us accommodations in London."

"Oh. So she didn't tell you she's decided not to stay on at Downton this week after all?"

Matthew came to a dead stop, letting go of her arm. "I'm sorry, what?"

Mary had continued a few steps beyond and turned back to look at him. "She told me she will be back to London tomorrow morning after all. She said she would feel an impolite hostess otherwise."

He swallowed and tried to recover himself. One of the things he had most been looking forward to on this honeymoon was the chance to finally have some time alone with Mary. He knew they would have plenty of time for that once in France, but he had really hoped to have it for the first few days of their honeymoon as well. "Well, um, that will be …. I suppose it will be nice to have her, uh, company for a few days."

She cocked a brow at him. "No it won't." Stepping back to him slowly, she took his hand again. "Which is exactly what Granny told her in no uncertain terms. She's been relegated to the Dower House now." She grinned up at him, and he couldn't miss the dark sparkle in her eye. "Really, now darling. Did you think I would let our honeymoon start off with a chaperone?"

Swallowing hard at the warm purr of her voice, he squeezed her hand. "I don't know whether to thank you or be cross with you for teasing me that way."

Her low chuckle floated around him as they settled into their carriage. "Oh, you will thank me and learn to enjoy some teasing, I think."

"Be careful, turn about can be fair play," he growled as he sat down next to her. He was close enough to catch the softest touch of her perfume, lightly floral with slightly darker, spicy note underneath, perfectly suited for her. He unbuttoned his jacket and settled in as the whistle sounded, more steam rising up around the windows as the train slowly lurched forward.

Matthew reached over and pulled her gloved hand into his, smiling down at it. Looking at their joined hands, he ran his fingers over the back of hers, playing over where her wedding and engagement rings now made a bump beneath the silky fabric of her gloves.

He smiled and lifted his head to find Mary looking at him with an equally joyous smile on her face. "Happy?" he asked.

"What do you think?" She laced her fingers through his.

"Well, you aren't exactly predictable," he teased, reaching up to brush over the tendril of dark hair that curled around her face. He loved this style she had chosen for the wedding, the way it seemed to soften her, showing a very different Mary from the one she was so determined to show the world. This was the woman he knew, the one who had loved him so quietly and selflessly, the one who looked so elated and young as she said yes in that gentle snowfall, face alight with joy.

She leaned towards him slightly, a gentle challenge in her gaze. "Good," she whispered very close to his mouth.

He grinned back at her, and then leaned in to complete the kiss. Soft and gentle, as his fingers continued to trace over her silky skin, began to learn the curve of her delicate jaw. His eyes had already memorized her long ago, every look, every angle, every gentle curve. Now it was time for his fingers and hands to learn all those same features, to memorize their feel, to find how easily he fit against those angles and curves. And then maybe his mouth would start to learn the taste of every inch of her. He had to stifle the moan as thoughts of what their honeymoon held for them both came rushing in.

A loud rap accompanied a rather forceful clearing of the throat, and Matthew quickly looked up to find the conductor standing in the open door of their compartment. Embarrassed, Matthew fumbled for their tickets inside his jacket, mumbling an apology as he handed them over. "Sorry. Just married."

Mary glanced at him and continued to smile serenely at the conductor who smiled in return and uttered a brief congratulation before handing the punched tickets back to Matthew. Matthew shifted in his seat as the compartment door slid shut.

It was Mary's turn to reach over and run her hand lightly over the edge of Matthew's face. "Your ears have gone red," she teased.

He looked up at her, "I got a bit distracted."

"So did I," she murmured. The openness of her gaze and the shared thoughts and wants he saw in the warmth of it was still so new to him, still making him dizzy with knowing he would now share his life, as well as those needs and wants with this woman. The strength of emotion swelled in him, causing an actual pain in his chest, and he gently squeezed her hand tighter.

As if in understanding, She placed her other hand over his, leaning into him, and he felt her lips brush his cheek softly before she settled against his shoulder. Her soft sigh wrapped around them both, and he closed his eyes, leaning his head back, and then slightly against hers. "It has been a long day," he murmured.

"Mmm," was her quiet response next to him. "And yet it'snot quite over."

His stomach flipped excitedly at the implication of her words, and all he could do was grasp her hands even tighter. "I suppose we should take the chance to rest then on what may the longest train ride to London _ever_."

Her answering chuckle was soft. "Oh, most definitely." She settled in close to his side, her thumb tracing a soft circle on the back of his hand.

* * *

The quiet and stillness of the Belgravia house was nearly palpable. Where Rosamund may not have understood the needs of a couple on honeymoon, what with her proposed return the next day, her servants certainly had. Everything was subtle efficiency and as much privacy as possible. As Anna was shown upstairs and given help with unpacking and settling both in, Mary and Matthew had been whisked into a dimly lit dinning room, intimately set with a light dinner for two. The butler, Meade, hung back, nearly in the shadows, overseeing needs as necessary, but clearly letting them have as much seclusion as they wished.

"This feels like such a luxury after all the noise and bustle of this afternoon," Mary sighed as she bit into another strawberry, glancing at Matthew where he sat beside her.

"Yes, but you loved the attention."

"Well," she paused to chuckle before retuning his cheeky grin, "I suppose, but there is a limit even for me." Taking another slow bite of a strawberry, she deliberately let her lips drag across the fruit, holding Matthew's gaze as she touched her tongue to her lips, catching at the juice. It had the desired effect as his hands paused over his own plate and he stared at her, mouth slightly agape. She smiled and cocked her head slightly to the side, thrilling in both the rush of the sensual power she had over him and the knowledge that they were both allowed to finally act on it.

Matthew pushed away his own fruit plate to lean in closer to Mary, his gaze still fixed on her mouth. "Hold on, I think you missed something right about here." His thumb stroked across the corner of her mouth as he leaned in closer. "I think I can get it," he murmured, his breath now caressing her lips.

She pulled back slightly, reaching up to catch his hand. "Matthew," she tutted slightly, raising her brows to indicate Meade was watching.

He glanced over her shoulder and shook his head. "All alone," and he leaned forward once more. She evaded him again with a light laugh, but still held on to his hand, her fingers caressing over his before she lifted his fingertips to her lips and ran light kisses across them. Dropping his head with a smothered groan, he let out a strangled, "Mary!"

She pressed one final kiss into the palm of his hand just as she heard a quiet cough behind her. Jumping slightly, she looked at Matthew as his head snapped up, cheeks flushing ever so slightly.

"Enough," he murmured, standing and tugging at her hand. "Nightcap?"

She hummed her assent, glancing over at Meade to give him a silent nod. As they stepped into the foyer, a liveried footman was waiting for them at the drawing room door. Guiding Mary with a warm hand on her back, Matthew waved away the footman. "I think I can manage to pour brandy for the both of us, thank you."

She had to smother her laugh as the door clicked closed behind them. "That wasn't at all obvious, darling."

"My subtlety has been used up today." Catching her hand, he turned her back to face him as his other arm slipped around her waist and pulled her in closely. "Now, about that bit of strawberry," he murmured against her lips before exploring them with his own.

A shiver ran along her spine, settling right where his hand was pressed low on her back. She was losing herself in the gentle glide of his lips against hers and the ever-increasing tension around them. She cupped his face with her hands, stroking her thumbs against his cheekbones as he sighed gently into her. She pulled back, watching as his eyes slowly opened, a small furrow of disappointment emerging on his brow.

"I'd love that brandy," her voice was low, and she slipped out his arms to find her way on shaky legs to an overstuffed settee. The small sips of wine at dinner had done nothing to calm the fluttering in her belly, and she was fast becoming annoyed with her own nerves. Perhaps this was the most trying part of it all, when they were shifting from friends and a more than eager engaged couple to actual lovers. And after all, it was such fun to tease him, especially given how often he had teased her in the past few months.

Smiling widely at him as he approached with the two snifters, she reached out to take one, loving the glancing touch of his fingers as she did. "Thank you, darling." Being able to call him that so freely was making her giddy.

His gaze had darkened slightly, but he sipped at the brandy, raising his brows in appreciation. "Rosamund has excellent taste in brandy," he said, glancing around the room. "Though not so much in decor, I think."

The room was an overcrowded collection of marble and anything covered in gold leaf, Rococo swirls and ornamentations in every corner and on every object. "Hmm, perhaps a bit over the top. I'm not so sure it is to my tastes either, but …" she shrugged in deference, sipping at her drink, the sweet warmth of it calming her.

Matthew shifted slightly closer to her, leaning a bit against the back of the settee. He brushed a hand across her cheek, pushing back a loose tendril. "Have I mentioned how beautiful you look today?"

"You may have, once or twice."

"Well, I meant it." His fingers were caressing just under her ear now. "I know it is cliché to say, but when I saw you coming down the aisle, I don't think I took a breath for the next few minutes you were so stunningly gorgeous."

She leaned in to his caress ever so slightly. "Good, that was the desired effect," she murmured, taking yet another sip of brandy.

"And this is lovely as well," his fingers played at the floral print collar of her jacket, then slowly trailed down the buttoned edge, tugging just slightly. "Though I'm sure what is under it…"

"Don't make me blush," she mockingly chided, catching his wandering hand. She watched him start to sip at his own snifter. "Even if I might be thinking the same thing about…," She loosed his fingers and reached out as if to tug at the edge of his waistcoat, but let her hand drop to rest on his thigh.

He nearly choked on his brandy. Setting his snifter down on the side table behind him before leaning in to slip one hand around her hip and the other behind her head. "Just for that," he rumbled lowly, "I will make you blush."

The heat that flared across her cheeks from his kiss was from anything but shocked sensibilities. His mouth was as sweet and warm as the brandy, only more emboldening. He was tasting her lips with slow yet sure caresses, and she answered in kind as her free hand reached up to circle around his neck. Each traced curves and lines over the others lips, all of it falling together as naturally as breathing. The heat flaming in her cheeks was spreading, traveling down her body until everything was too warm. His lips were now tasting the line of her jaw, and she let out an involuntary gasp and shudder as he licked a spot behind her ear. She pushed him away gently, leaning her forehead against his as she panted for breath, "Sorry, I just …" She hesitated, unsure how to explain she was dizzy and too warm and yet wanting more, but not here?

His hand circled her shoulder, thumb caressing gently back and forth along the tense muscles that curved up to her neck. "Are you tired?" It was a quiet question, holding no expectation or disappointment, just soft concern that matched his gaze.

Her thumb mimicked the action on the back of his neck. "Tired as in, 'have we sat in the drawing room long enough and can we go upstairs now', or tired as in, 'it has been a very long day and exploring all sorts of things would be too exhausting'?"

Chuckling softly, he pressed a surprisingly chaste kiss to her lips. "Well, if you put it that way, both."

She pulled back slightly, her fingers combing through his hair as she smiled at him. "Well, then. Yes. And no."

He leaned in for another kiss, carefully lifting the drink out of her hand and managing to set it on the side table without taking his lips from hers, deepening the kiss until it was far from chaste and both her hands had reached up to twine through his hair. He pulled away slightly and searched her gaze. "Excellent answers for both questions."

"Will you manage this month without Molesly?" she asked as they ascended the curving staircase.

"Yes, I will manage just fine. Trust me, I was managing to dress myself for years before arriving at Downton." He reach out and tugged at the hem of her jacket. "And now I have you to undress me."

9


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Mea culpa, between real life interfering and *my* anxiety (on top o f Mary & Matthew's...) about getting the tone of this chapter right amidst all their baggage, I am much later in posting this chapter than I intended. But I hereby reward your patience and kind reviews of Chapter 1 (and that wee little cliffhanger) with what you are all here for: Wedding Night Smut._

_Many, many thanks to Orangeshipper for listing to my endless meta, the cheerleading, and most of all not running screaming from the really, really dark first draft; RGrace for her beta at the drop of a hat; and agncatz for the darling cover-art I am still madly in love with. And of course, you all, the source of my performance anxiety. ;) I hope this lives up to "missing canon" expectations. Oh, and soundtrack for this chapter is, of course, "Between Sheets" by Imogen Heap._

* * *

**Chapter 2**

"I can't believe you sent him off to ready himself on his own."

Mary smiled at Anna and shook her head. "Really now, Anna, you will get quite the reputation with your encouragement." She paused a moment, meeting Anna's eyes in the dressing table mirror. "Besides, I nearly didn't. But I want to make sure I look perfect."

If only her nerves felt as composed as her reflection looked, hair in dark waves down her back and skin pale against the soft peach of her silk nightdress. Her fingers went to her wedding and engagement rings on her left hand, playing with them and feeling the not-yet-familiar weight and pull of them. She could almost feel that tension, that gentle tug from the finger on which they rested to her heart. Smiling softly at her own sentimental nonsense, she slipped them off before beginning to dab on her hand cream.

"Somehow I think Mr. Matthew would find you perfect no matter what."

She chuckled. "You are probably right. Still, I figured this may be the only night over the next few when I'm allowed a proper toilette before bed."

Anna gave her a cheeky grin in the mirror. "You are going to leave me with nothing to do this month besides leave a tea tray outside your door in the mornings and tidy the clothes strewn about on the floor once you are finally out of bed."

"Anna!" Mary tried not to laugh through her feigned shock.

"Oh, and there is also the occasional tidying of your hair that might become necessary."

Mary's blush this time was genuine, though from the tumbling sensation in her stomach, she wasn't sure if the heat on her cheeks was due to shock, nerves, or excitement.

Anna paused, watching Mary's reflection. "It is different. When you are in love."

Mary looked up, her brow furrowing. "What?" She had heard Anna perfectly clearly, but the trickle of fear that had come from nowhere at her words had Mary reacting instinctively. _Of course it is different_, she thought. _It has to be._

Anna touched her shoulder gently for a moment. "Nothing, just…. He is a good man and loves you very much."

Mary nodded, rubbing the last of the cream into her hands, still distracted and lost in her own thoughts. And wondering how all that was impending was supposed to unfold. All things being permitted seemed to present a much different array of expectations than someone forcing their way into her room. Here they were, suddenly husband and wife, and at least she had experience, and yet she didn't know if things picked up from where they had parted at the top of the stairs with a soft kiss or an immediate tumble onto the bed. Not having a map or detailed plan was driving her mad with the not knowing, and she knew that was where her nerves had to be coming from. Not of what was to come – not of Matthew – just of what she was supposed to do and how. Slowly, she slipped her rings back on, another piece of herself seeming to sigh and calm with the weight of them, shifting into something different, something new.

Anna's soft voice broke through Mary's racing thoughts. "Well, I'm not sure you could look any more perfect." Anna stepped back from Mary as she turned in the low chair. "I'll go tap on his door to let him know," Anna said as she moved to the door. She hesitated and then turned back to Mary, not meeting her eyes, as her cheeks pinked slightly. "Oh, and just start with a kiss. Everything else will just follow."

Mary's jaw dropped, surprised once more by Anna's ability to read her so well. "Anna," she called out, stopping the petite woman in the doorway. She waited until Anna turned back to meet her gaze. "Thank you."

Anna nodded once more with a smile and closed the door softly behind her. Mary blew out a one final, shaky breath, feeling slightly more calm. Now all she needed….

There was a soft rap on the door. Rising from the chair, Mary quickly crossed the room, reaching the door just as the handle began to turn under her fingers. She grinned, pulling the door part-way open before stopping it and tilting her head to coyly peer around the edge of it. Her breath caught at the sight of Matthew, freshly shaven and hair neatly combed, dark blue silk pajama peeking out under a dark striped robed The look of combined nervousness and eagerness on his face made Mary smile all the wider as she recognized the very same jumble of emotions she had been battling for the last half hour.

Reaching out her hand for his, she opened the door all the way, still beaming up at him as their fingers intwined and the door clicked closed behind him. Her other hand reached up to caress his cheek, and she stepped closer, her skin seeming to drink in the mere presence of him, as the silence between them wound them in a soft embrace. Ever closer they drifted, soft whispers of touch through flimsy fabric, bodies slowly learning to recognize the feel of the other, the electric current between them humming and stroking across them. They swayed, a gentle dance of understanding, of learning.

Without a word, Mary rose up on her toes and gave him a soft, gentle kiss. His answering taste of her was followed by an exhale of nervous energy, and she chuckled softly, opening her eyes to look at his. She took a step back, gently tugging his hand, leading him toward the bed. He answered her with a teasing grin, once again catching her mouth with his, and all movement stopped. She was nothing but the caress of his mouth against hers, the taste of hunger shared as lips parted. The rest of the world spun away in in a dizzying blur as she became nothing but the touch of his body against hers, every point of contact redefining her.

She let out a small cry of surprise against his lips as his arms wrapped tightly around her and he lifted her off her feet, swinging her around so that he reached the bed first where he pulled her down into his lap. Lifting her mouth from his, she stroked her hands up through his hair as his settled in at her waist.

"Did I even say a proper good evening to you?" he murmured from under her gaze.

She smiled, "Oh, I think so." She searched his clear blue eyes, darker in the dim light of the room, then caught the shine of her diamond engagement and wedding rings as she brushed the hair back from his forehead. The wonder of the simple and natural touch, now allowed, mesmerized her.

His fingers tracing up her ribs, caressing back down to her hips, was something else that was so new and yet always seemed to be. "I love you," he whispered, catching her gaze again.

With an answering smile, she lowered her head, leaning fully into him as she kissed him again, needing his warmth as she needed breath.

He let out a soft groan under her lips as her tongue traced the edges of his mouth. His lips trailed a path along her jaw, down her neck, making her shiver and sigh as she wound her fingers deeper into his hair. "Mary." It was the barest whisper, felt against her skin more than heard.

She leaned back slightly to look at him, and he met her gaze with eyes so full of emotion she thought her heart would burst. He swallowed nervously, "I want to — May I see you?"

She couldn't help but recognize the flash of an oh-so-much-younger Matthew in his gaze at that. She let her fingers trace the curve of his face from his brow down to his lips, smiling that she could almost feel his held breath there as she nodded her assent. Bending to kiss him again, she breathed a soft, "Of course," against him, catching that exhaled breath of his. She closed her eyes as his hands stroked down her thigh and then back up, carrying the silky fabric of her nightgown with them. The warmth his hands against her bare skin was dizzying, seeming to pull at her everywhere at once. His hands were hesitant, tracing careful circles over her exposed hip, carefully venturing wider as they explored under the silk.

Her forehead pressed to his as he nibbled and sucked at her bottom lip. She was sure he had to be able to hear her heart pounding in her chest. Her hands were on his shoulders now, her fingers seeking some anchor to herself against him. His smooth hand was now cupping her bottom, the other skimming across her belly, daring to brush every now and then as high as the undersides of her breasts. He shifted beneath her, carefully pulling her to standing as he pushed the fabric of her nightgown higher. She straightened and lifted her arms, her hands catching at the silk to help lift it from her.

Emerging from under the peachy silk, she reached out for his shoulders once more, steadying herself as she stood naked in front of him. Daring to open her eyes, she watched his gaze travel over her, aware of the rapid pounding of her own heart as she could feel the jump of his pulse under her fingers. She was shaking, not from fear or shame as she would expect, exposed as she was, but rather from the naked intensity of emotion of Matthew's face, his hands hovering, not daring to touch her. He looked up at her, and she caught her breath at what she saw reflected his eyes. "God, you are so beautiful."

She took a step closer, nudging herself into the space between his thighs, brushing against his fingers that now began to roam against her skin again as if the spell that had held them motionless had been broken. She pushed at the collar of his dressing gown, forcing it down his arms before reaching back to pull at the shoulders of his pyjama top. His hands left her body for the briefest minute to strip his top away, allowing her fingers to begin to trace a path of their own against his skin. Hot breath mingled with the touch of his lips between her breasts, making her cling to him for balance before finally taking his face and tilting it up to taste his mouth again.

The angle of their kiss shifted again as he stood, hands sweeping fully and firmly across her body, and she whimpered into his mouth. Every sense was increasing, every touch of his skin against her, the rich taste of his lips, the clean citrus-tinged scent of him, the sound of his breath and soft moans that echoed in her ears. All of it combined into a whirl of madness in her head, overwhelming her, causing her to pull him closer, to learn every part of him. The solid press of his chest under her hand, the reaction of his body as she traced her own exploring circles across him, finding spots that made him let out louder moans into her mouth. The press of his arousal against her called up some prior unknown dance, making her press her hips harder against him, desperate for some understanding, some answering call she had yet to learn.

His hands left her body for the briefest moment, and she felt the soft whisper of silk against her legs, replaced by more new, hot skin. Silken sliding against firm and muscular, she was learning every inch of him, every new texture, the way they seemed to mold into each other so perfectly.

She had lost all sense of gravity, her mind overwhelmed with all the new sensation. Matthew's hands grasped under her thighs, and she was barely aware she was curling into him from a different angle, or of the embrace of the cool sheets under her heated skin. Hands were everywhere, pulling, grasping, seeking to learn it all at once. It wasn't enough. Not enough of the electric sensations that surged when he brushed against certain areas. She gasped for a breath as his mouth trailed a hot path away from hers, searing a trail down her neck and into the curve of her shoulder. She arched up against him, wanting more of something, but not quite sure what. There was a panicked desperation in her movements, and she tried desperately to squirm away from that hint of shadow she felt creeping up from somewhere.

Weight and breath and the heat of skin on skin flooded through her, making her pull him closer as the buzzing started to fill her head. _Matthew_, she chanted to herself, trying to keep her eyes open, keep her focus on him, on the now, trying to touch every inch of him with hands that were going icy cold. She tasted his skin again, kisses on his temple as he traced a pattern along her neck with his tongue. The pull of muscles into unfamiliar angles and pressure weighed her down even as she wove her fingers through his hair.

The trembling was constant now, beyond her control. She wanted to cry out, to breathe, something, but everything was slipping away from her. She could feel his hands stroking across her, but it was as though it was a different body they traced; she was disconnected now from the heat and arousal she knew she should be feeling, and instead was being pressed down into some other numbing blackness. Were her hands even touching him anymore? She couldn't feel them, through she curled her fingers tighter, desperate to pull herself back to where she should be.

And that constant buzzing in her head. It wouldn't stop. It was drowning out the soft murmurs of his voice she had heard before, the sounds of his mouth on her body, of their breaths, heavy and fast. She heard a distant catch of breath, a sob, something, and she tried to hear it again as her eyes tried to focus through the dizzying spin of blackness. She was shaking still, but somehow everything else seemed to stop. She felt air in her mouth and was able to suck it in for a second. She wanted to feel him again. _Matthew_. That is what she needed, all that she needed, if only she could figure out where he was in the darkness that had crept in to surround her with the icy sense of foreboding.

"_Mary_."

That rich voice, warm with promise, was calling out to her, and she blinked, seeing his face, those eyes, impossibly light and yet dark with desire at the same time. And concern. She blinked again, smiling up at him, though it felt odd, tight, forced. Why was there so much worry on his face? She watched her hand stroke across his cheek again and again. It trembled, and yet she could feel nothing, not the movement, not his skin or heat.

"Darling, what's wrong?" He sounded urgent, panicked, but his voice was a pull for her, and she was able to cling to it, to him. Another breath and another. "What did I do? I know . . . I mean, I'm just so…" he trailed off for a moment. "I didn't mean —"

"No," she shook her head, hating how forced and tight her voice sounded. She swallowed and took a deeper breath.

He was watching her, and she could see the battle he was waging between desire and worry. And then something shifted, a flash of understanding, a quick shadow that could have held anger was there and gone. "Mary," he barely managed to whisper, and she felt his body still beside her. "Did —"

She was shaking her head again, "I don't know," and then a sob and the tears she didn't realize she had been fighting were there. She squeezed her eyes shut, mortified and confused, feeling as though she was having to pull herself out of the fog of a nightmare. But her fingertips were tingling now; she could sense the silky fall of his hair where she had hold of him. She shook her head, and the dizziness raged again, threatening to grab hold of her and pull her under. "I'm sorry. I don't know what happened, but I'm fine." Her voice sounded anything but.

She heard him swear softly under his breath, and her skin was suddenly cold, the touch of him against her gone except for his hands cradling her face.

"Darling, we don't —" His voice was strained, and he was struggling with his words. "We don't have to, if…. We shouldn't. I'm sorry." The last words were barely an angry whisper, but she could tell the anger was directed back on himself.

Another steadying breath and she opened her eyes. His face was a tightly controlled mask of neutral expression, but she could see the fear and concern in his eyes – eyes that were glassy with his own unspent tears.

_No_, she thought, this isn't what she wanted. He started to move away from her, sitting up at the edge of the bed, and she followed him, one arm wrapping around his neck the other his waist as she curled herself around him. "No," she whispered against his neck, rocking slightly. "Matthew, I'm sorry."

He was fighting with his own shaky breathing at this time. "Really, Mary, it is fine." He was forcing a cheerfulness and calm into his voice that she knew wasn't there. It was still simmering, that pull between them, the heat, the desire, all of it. And she wanted it back. She needed it back.

She settled her chin on his shoulder, closing her eyes as she pressed herself into the warmth of his back. He was tense, and she wasn't sure if her arms wrapped around him, hands softly stroking up and down his sides, was helping him. Her own frustration and annoyance at her reaction was bubbling up inside her, making her furious that _that_ — _he_ — could intrude now, here, just as she thought she had reached all possible happiness in her life. She sighed softly, pressing a kiss to Matthew's shoulder, her eyes opening, her gaze low. She took in where her arms crossed him, the line of his chest, the contrast of her skin against his, the scattering of hair across his chest, and lower. Warmth was flooding back across her cheeks as she studied him, and she smiled, planting a kiss on his neck, behind his ear. He expelled a shaking breath, and she could feel the rapid pounding of his pulse under her lips.

"Mary —"

She cut him off. "No," she said again, her voice louder, steadier, calm. She took his face in her hands and forced him to look at her. "That isn't what I want," she whispered, pulling him down to kiss him, softly, but warm. She pulled back slightly, her eyes seeking his again. "I want this," she said, hooking her legs tighter against him so she pressed more fully into his side. "I want you. And I don't want to wait." She kissed him again, longer, but just as softly as she felt his body struggle to restrain his response.

"Mary," he tried to protest against her lips, but she stopped his words with her tongue gently tracing the curve of his mouth.

Opening her eyes to look at him again as she caressed his cheekbones with her thumbs, she whispered, "Please. Help me chase away the ghosts."

He gave her one look of desperation before closing his eyes and shaking his head. "I'm not sure I —"

She shifted, gently pulling him down to lie beside her. She stroked his face until he looked at her again. "Well, I am," she breathed, her voice a velvet murmur. Her hand was tracing across his back, finding patterns, taking in the feel of his bare skin and the ripple of muscle.

He hesitated, still watching her face, but she held steady in his gaze. Tentatively he moved to kiss her, feather-light, holding so their breath mingled, shared, a more intimate sense of learning the feel, taste, and warmth of the other. She kept her gaze on him, even this close, the curl of his dark lashes against his cheek, the clear light of his eyes as he, too, opened his to watch her. No darkness, no black weight pulling her down, her hand on him pulled him close. The weight of his hand on her hip now buoying, the warmth radiating from him cocooning her in a safe embrace. The taste of him on her lips so different, carving new memories over old, creating new triggers and new answers, erasing all that came before.

Her body was now stirring in ways that only he could reach and satisfy. Mouths tasted and traced paths where hands had touched before. Hands learned new trails and sighs echoed more delights. All the while, her eyes remained on him, an anchor to where she was now, to each new sensation, each increasing rush of desire through her, everything that had never been experienced before. Slowly now, he was exploring her, and the look of him losing himself to his own desire made her arch into him even more eagerly. That flash of blue as he flicked a gaze up at her even as his mouth closed over her breast nearly more intimate and thrilling than the electrical pull of want his tongue and teeth were causing to rage through her body.

Her leg hooked over his, hips rising in the desperate need of his weight on her now. She felt she was descending into a madness of want and need and pleasure with each touch of his hands. Her lips no longer gave up soft sighs but gasps and uncontrolled moans. The vision of him lavishing her body with kisses and caresses as his own gentle murmurs of encouragement joined in the song of pleasure echoing around them. Finally, she caught his hand, urging it lower to where she needed his touch most. Her arms wrapped around him to hold him close as he breathed kisses over her jaw, tasted her lips with each gentle moan. She held his gaze, even as the soft cries began to escape her lips. That startling blue, that precious taste of him, the feel of him; she opened herself to that utter intimacy of her pleasure as her hips moved ever faster. Her hands cupped his face, and she poured out her soul to him in her look, in her kiss, as she broke apart at his touch, his name gracing each breath she panted.

Only then did her eyes drift shut, echoing waves of pleasure still rolling over her limp form. He was nuzzling intent kisses into the curve of her neck as his hand now kneaded the curve of her hip. She could feel his question there, his hesitation, and she pulled him up to kiss him once more, shifting herself beneath him, her answer in the brush of her thighs on either side of his hips and the hum of delight into his mouth. His hips shifted clumsily as he pressed against her, and he was trembling above her. Running her hands across his back, her own nervousness easier to dismiss, her legs came up to circle his hips as he began to ease into her.

He hesitated, freezing above her. "_Christ_, Mary, I don't think I … can —" His voice trailed off as she lifted her head to swirl her tongue at that spot behind his ear, and with a loud groan, he was all movement again. She gasped at the shock and delight of him suddenly filling her, then nipped at his ear as she pulled him even deeper into her.

His panting breath was warm against her ear as his hand greedily gripped her hip, desperate to control his own movement as she began to echo them. She clung tighter to him as his gasping breaths became groans, and then just as quickly, oaths as his hips jerked erratically against her.

"God, Mary! _Mary!_" She was digging her nails into him as she watched his face above her, surprise, delight, and pleasure combining into a mask of pure euphoria that made her head spin as he spilled into her. A trembling started through her, and she held her breath as she watched him, desperate to feel him still on her, the echoing pounding of his heart against hers. He groaned one last time, his mouth finding hers, "God, I love you," he breathed into her, his voice rich with pieces of his soul. Warm and heavy, and his pulse still racing with hers, sweat-slick skin pressed along hers, his tongue still tasting her mouth as she shivered one last time and let out her held breath, a benediction of thanks.

Drinking him in again, she tried to hold him closer, desperate for every last bit of him to fill her, to crawl inside his skin if it meant they could be closer and she could feel how alive he was. She whispered against his lips, "_Matthew_," and again, "_Matthew_," wondering if he knew what she really meant, what she was writing on his soul with each exhalation of his name.

Sweat and heat and racing pulses pressed to each other, he rested heavy on top of her, but that blessed thrumming of his heart was echoing through her. She wanted to laugh with a ridiculous delight, a swell of joy and love and hope so huge she didn't know how it was possible to come from her alone. Fingers stroked through his hair as he blew warm breaths against her neck, his own hands coming up to curve around her ribs, fingers stroking.

She felt, more than heard, him murmuring something against her. "Hmm?"

He shifted, taking her with him as he rolled to his side, brushing a soft kiss against her cheek. "I love you. I wish that I had been able … well, that it hadn't been so rushed." He ducked his head guiltily, but she reach up to cup his face, studying the flush of his skin, the look in his eyes that had never been so intense and raw before.

She kissed him softly, once, twice, then murmured against his lips, "No apologies. Ever."

He kissed her back just as gently. "But —"

Her thumb brushing across his lips stopped him, and she gave him look of loving sternness. "Ever."

That wild, raw look in his eyes deepened, and he pressed his forehead against hers, closing his eyes briefly. "I love you so very much." His voice was hoarse, as choked with emotion as hers had been. "I just want to be sure that you can know as much pleasure as I do, simply from touching you, from —" his voice broke off.

She tilted her chin up to catch his mouth again, to try and breathe into him the depth of her love, too enormous to be contained in three words. She caressed his face, pressed her body more fully against his, before breaking that dizzying kiss and taking a shaky breath. "Oh, Matthew, never doubt that. Please, don't ever doubt that."

His arms wrapped more fully around her, and they stilled there in that embrace, no more words needing to be spoken to convey what was better told through breath and touch.

* * *

Matthew surfaced from sleep slowly, blissfully, like he hadn't for far too long. No sharp shout, no sudden start, no cold sweat of a nightmare jolting him to consciousness. Instead, a lulling warmth and embrace welcomed him from dreamless sleep, and he sighed into the darkness. Mary was curled into his side, head resting on his shoulder, legs tangled with his as he stroked his thumb across the back of her hand where it rested on his chest, his other hand trailing a lazy caress in the gentle dip between her hips and her waist.

For all he had fantasized and imagined what marriage would bring, he had never imagined this. This was an intimacy he never knew possible, had never dared to hope for. Yet here, wrapped in the quiet darkness of their room, the warmth of this bed and Mary's skin and heart-beat against him, it as so right, somehow expected, making perfect sense of the pull they had to the other for all that time. There were memories of nights in trenches, body and mind pushed beyond the limits of exhaustion and yet still too anxious and terrified to sleep when the only thing that had saved his sanity was the memory of her warm eyes, her velvet-rich voice, imagined conversations he wanted to have with her. He would cling to the thought of her, calming himself to some level of sleep before terror would slip back in. His mind had become deft at sidestepping the thoughts of how it had only ever been Mary he had thought of, the promise of seeing her again, that had kept him together, surviving one more day, one more moment, one more heart-beat.

Here he was, rewarded with the very thing his soul had craved. And yet he had to question whether he actually deserved it, after all he had done, all the hurt he caused, including the hurt to Mary. Despite all that, despite the multitude of reasons he could list that he didn't deserve this, this moment of peace, of bliss, of comfort and happiness, it was given to him. And he knew, as he simply breathed it all in in this dark room, that there was no way he could ever have this perfection with anyone else. There was no one else who could give him this level of contentment, of completeness. Perhaps that in itself was the sign he did deserve it. Yet if he let his guard down, accepted that he somehow was worthy…. He shook his head, letting out a heavy sigh as he pressed her tighter to his side.

"Matthew, be careful, you are very close to tickling me."

Her sleepy murmur rising up next to him made him jump slightly and lift his hand from her waist before settling it back on her hip as he chuckled and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

He felt her shake her head as she stretched her legs slightly, running them along his deliciously before resettling, one foot still caressing his calf with a gentle rhythm. "Mmm, you didn't. I've been awake a little while."

"Anything wrong?" The darkness of her earlier panic crept in on him, and he tensed. He had recognized that look in her eyes, that unfocused look of a nightmare playing out on an awake mind. He'd seen it far too often in men in the trenches, aid stations, hospitals. To see that shock and terror on Mary's face had made no sense until he realized there was only one thing that could have caused that reaction at that particular moment. That simmering anger he had felt at the realization was warming back up in him now, and he knew she hadn't told him everything about that prior affair. Of course she hadn't; he didn't want to know details. But realizing she had convinced herself of a different version of events from what must have actually happened made his blood boil, and he had a sudden urge to throttle Pamuk. He had to remind himself that perhaps a divine retribution had already been played out, but it didn't take away that haunted look in Mary's eyes. The fact that she was able to trust him at all still had him reeling, but he know it was going to be a long road to continue to build and keep that trust. God, if only he had known, he wouldn't have been such an over-eager clot.

But her fingers were now twining with his as she planted a small kiss on the side of his chest. "Nothing wrong at all. I was just thinking how nice this is."

"What is?" Her voice was pulling him from his other worrisome thoughts and reminding him of just what a bliss he was caught up in. He found himself smiling into her hair as he waited for her answer.

Her voice was soft and carefully measured, as she was in everything. "Just this. Being here, with you." She hesitated a moment before adding, "Just listening to you breathe. I —" But she faltered, and Matthew lifted their joined hands so he could press a simple kiss to the palm of her hand before giving her another gentle squeeze and settling their hands back on his chest, his thumb caressing over the back of hers.

"I was thinking the same thing, as I was listening to you breathe as well. I may become quite enamored of the middle of the night."

He thought he could feel her smile against him. The room was deeply dark, and all was touch and their murmured voices, or, as now, the gentle rhythm of each beside the other as the silence became as much a caress, a murmured word between them as any other.

"I remember that first day, when you were brought back to Downton injured. I sat there all afternoon just listening for your next breath."

He stilled, stunned by her quiet words, wondering what to say in response, but she continued on.

"Here I had packed a little bag of sewing and books, but after helping Sybil get you settled, I just sat there watching for your breath, and —" She hesitated, but he knew her next words.

"And holding my hand."

She lifted her head from his shoulder, searching for his face in the darkness. "You knew?"

"No. Well, not completely, not until just now." Those shoved-aside memories surfaced a bit too easily for him, and he shook his head. "It was just a jumble, a confusing dream, the whole time. I … I was trapped in this whirl of noise, and then sudden silence, and I didn't know... I didn't know what was going on, but I couldn't move or speak and…." He let out a shaky breath that was almost a nervous laugh. "The only thing I was able to make sense of was that someone was holding my hand and keeping it warm and not letting me get lost. I know they were talking every now and then, but I couldn't make anything out. But there was that hand holding mine, so I just focused on that... and the knowledge that I would get through because of that."

She rested her head back down against his shoulder, pulling herself tighter to him, and he thought he felt dampness on her cheek. "I didn't realize you knew," she whispered. "I stayed as long as I could while you were unconscious, I was so scared of you being alone. I would have stayed, I would have stayed and done everything if I had been allowed."

Pressing his lips down into her hair, he answered, "I know. I know you would have. And … thank you." He pulled her closer, rolling her up onto his chest, and held her there as their hands caressed each other and the silence settled in to reopened wounds, and gentle kissed sought to heal them.

Moving his hand to her waist, he held her firmly as he made a small circle with his thumb. "So, tell me about this ticklish spot," he whispered against her lips.

"Oh, no, don't you dare! I hate it." She tried to wriggle free from his grasp. He teased his fingers across her sides until she let out a tiny squeak and twitched away from him, scolding him even as she laughed.

It became a contest of who could make who jump more with seeking, playful caresses, and quickly dissolved into more serious and passionate explorations. He murmured stories across her skin, and she sang him songs in return as the darkness encouraged hands and lips to learn and memorize every curve and angle of the other, every texture. Hushed voices whispered to each other, desires, dreams, teasing that pulled out laughter as they slowly made love. He learned the scent of her hair and how it differed from the scent of her skin, and how the scent of her skin changed as her arousal grew. He took in each new taste and texture on his tongue, and wondered at the emotion just the sound of her voice could stir up in him.

And he did not doubt her pleasure, he could not, as she clung to him, seeking, giving, her sighs and moans turning into cries of delight that brought him to his own release.


End file.
